


just give me a chance

by magisterequitum



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:32:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7821541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/pseuds/magisterequitum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At his desk, he texts Mike: <i>new guy not American. our age. cute</i></p><p>The little speech bubble pops up immediately, followed by words that say, <i>dude, not the new neighbor</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just give me a chance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alotofthingsdifferent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/gifts).



> Happy Exchange! I tried to put a few of your requests together in one for this. I hope it makes you happy and your day a bit better.
> 
> (though not mentioned, the embassy license plate is meant to belong to off screen Nicky, who Andre in real life once borrowed the car of and got pulled over by the police)

Tom comes home from work on Wednesday and sees the boxes at the end of the hall. His apartment is closer to the elevator, and there's only a few units on each side since this floor has the two bedroom places, but those are for sure boxes down there. 

He takes his time putting the key in the door. That unit has been empty for months. This floor's kind of quiet, maybe he'll get lucky and it'll be someone around his age. He can't hear anything and probably wouldn't be able to anyway. There's two units in between. His hope of seeing if he could catch the person dies after a minute goes. It would be weird to keep standing out here. 

Oh well, he'll meet the new neighbor soon enough. 

 

 

"Someone moved in?" 

Tom shifts his shoulder to keep his phone up against his ear. He should have just put it on speaker before starting dinner. "Uh, yeah, I think." 

Mike's voice sounds like he's outside. There's a rushing loud noise, and counting the time difference from the West Coast, he's probably just now walking home. "You think? You didn't see them?" 

"No," he says and prods the frozen vegetables in the skillet. It's just a pre-made mix of frozen stir fry. He's too tired to cook something real or order anything. 

"Hold on." 

Tom does, listening as Mike pays for the bus. Mike's polite like that. Won't ever talk on the phone and to someone else at the same time, even if it's the automatic bus system. He did it all the time here in D.C. before he went out to L.A. for work this month. 

"Okay, I'm back."

"No shit." 

"Fuck you, asshole," Mike says. "I was gonna say I hope the person is cool, maybe you'll make a new friend so you're not a sad loser there without me." 

Completely uncalled for. He's been completely fine alone in the apartment. He's got other friends too. Just because Mike was the first person he met after moving to work in their organization didn't mean Tom was a loser.

"I'm gonna give your room away." Tom checks to make sure the rice isn't burning. He's good as there's still water that needs to steam out. 

"I left my stuff." 

"I'll sell it on Craigslist." 

"You're an asshole," Mike repeats. "I hope it's some old person who hates you." 

"Yeah, yeah whatever, I'm going to eat." 

His luck it might just be that way. 

 

 

It actually takes another week before he sees whoever owns the boxes that had been stacked outside the door. 

When it does happen, Tom's on his way out and hears a shout about the elevator. Or what he thinks is a shout for it. The voice is deep and the sentence not really clear, but he automatically sticks his arm out to stop the doors. 

The person who comes in is tall and carrying a red duffel bag. He's skinnier than Tom. Around his age and has brown hair that's too long and curling a bit on his forehead. And someone Tom's never seen on this floor; Mike and he know everyone else. Has to be box owner, he thinks. 

"Thank you," New Guy says and smiles. He's got very white teeth and an accent to go with the thick voice. "I'm late." 

"No problem." Tom drops his arm from the door and steps back to the side. The elevator kicks in and starts going down. "I'm Tom. I'm down the hall from you. In 403." 

The doors open onto the ground floor, and he gets a nod and smile. He gets a repeat of, "I'm late." too. 

 

 

At his desk, he texts Mike: _'new guy not American. our age.'_

He gets a response two hours later of _'time zones, dude.'_ and then _'we're Canadian'_. 

_'whatever'_

and then 

_'he's cute'_

The little speech bubble pops up immediately, followed by, _'dude, not the new neighbor'_. 

Tom doesn't text back. He's got important work to do. That he's just been avoiding all morning until now because he's been too busy thinking about how hot the new guy is down the hallway. 

 

 

His mom tells him to go over and say hello properly and not in an elevator. 

Mike tells him not to fuck their new neighbor. Which moving way fast, Mike, he has some standards okay. 

Tom doesn't go over and since he doesn't go over he doesn't fuck their new neighbor either. Or get a date or invite. 

 

 

Instead, he finds out the guy's name is Andre when he gets woken up on a Saturday by a knock on his door. His bedroom is the one closest to the living room and front, and since they apartments are all tall ceilings and open space, the sound carries easy enough. 

He checks the viewer before he opens the door. Failing to fight off his yawn, his "hey" comes out a garbled mess. He feels his ears heat up and says, clearer, "Sorry. Uh, hey?" 

New Neighbor's standing on the doormat Mike's mom gave them, wearing gym shorts and a stretched out red shirt that matches the flushed look on his face. His hair's damp too. It's not a bad look and sort of makes waking Tom up worth it. "Hello." 

Tom squints, toes curling on the cold floor. "Is something wrong?" he asks. 

"No." One syllable that's so different from how Tom says it. He really wishes he was better at picking up accents. Even living in Toronto hadn't exposed him to enough to pick it out, and he'd only taken a few Spanish classes to pass credits. 

He clears his throat and focuses on not looking at the freckles on this guy's nose. "Okay. Did you need something?" 

If his new neighbor's here to kill him, Tom's pretty certain he can take him. The guy has skinny legs and Tom's pretty big and grew up with two brothers. 

"I'm Andre," New Neighbor, now apparently Andre, says and holds out his hand. "I want to say hello." 

"Oh, okay, yeah." Tom shakes the offered hand, noticing the roughness on the other guy's palm. "I'm Tom." 

"Tom." Andre repeats his name and it sounds like he's talking from the back of his throat or nose. "I want to ask if you know place to get stuff? Like, furniture? They said ask people I live with." 

He finishes his statement, halting over the words and watching Tom for a reaction. He looks earnest and a bit lost. At least when Tom had moved for work, Mike had been here already to help out. 

He rocks on his feet, elbow pushing the front door open a bit where he's let it slip. He's got no idea who the 'they' are that told Andre to ask him but whatever. "Uh, yeah. There's Target? And IKEA, but it's kind of a drive." 

Andre nods and smiles, showing all his teeth. "That is fine. I have a car I'm borrowing. Thank you." 

Tom's forgotten as Andre walks away towards his end of the hall. He watches him go and then shuts the door, rolling his eyes at his reflection in the hallway mirror that came with the place. 

Maybe not a murderer, just a little weird. Still cute though and he's not giving up yet. 

 

 

"You found the mail." 

Tom catches Andre next in the entryway of the building, the little off space after the glass doors that's got all their mail boxes. He jangles the keys in his hands, feeling for the small bronze one. 

Andre jumps, shoulders bunching around his ears and then blinks as he turns and sees it'd been Tom talking to him. 

"Sorry, man," Tom says and steps up to open #403. "Didn't mean to scare you." 

"No problem." Andre has a handful of the useless ads that get sent to you once you move in. Bed Bath and Beyond, the burger place down the street, the Giant grocery store, the one to the coffee shop near the Clarendon stop. "Yes, I found. Found the IKEA too." 

He grins at the little joke. "Good going." 

They've got nothing but a utility bill in theirs, and Tom grabs it before looking back at Andre. He takes a guess at what else might be in the junk welcome stack. "Endo's sushi is good if you like sushi?" 

He lets his voice trail off at the end, puts just the tiniest opening of offer in there. 

"Okay." No hint of understanding. Just a nice reply and then that little jerk of his chin that's supposed to be a wave or something as he walks away towards the elevator. 

Tom sighs and shuts the mailbox. 

 

 

_'Andre not into me'_

_'who would be into your ugly face'_

Fuck Mike. Tom's definitely the handsome one in this apartment. He's for sure selling Mike's stuff on Craigslist before he gets back from LA. 

 

 

They run into each other a couple other times: the mail room, the sidewalk outside the place when Tom's running before work, the elevator. 

He doesn't learn anything too new except Andre carries that duffel with him wherever he goes, he's got a car with a weird license plate, and he keeps later hours than Tom does. 

 

 

He goes for it one more time two weeks later. 

He's coming back from taking the trash out and sees Andre down at his door trying to put his keys in. He looks tired from the slump of his spine. It's late, close to nine. 

Tom halts in the doorway to his place. His fingers drag down the wood, and he raps his knuckles on it, thinking. He decides to go for it, just be direct this time. If it fails, he'll just forget Andre exists and ignore him. 

"Hey," he calls out, his voice echoing down the hallway. He waits till Andre looks over, and yeah dude is tired, can see it all over his face. "I have dinner if you want some? Since it's late and all." 

He's sure he's gonna get a brush off, but instead he gets an "okay" and shuffling of feet towards him and his door.

Score one for him. 

 

 

Dinner is Kraft mac and cheese and beer. Which isn't his finest showing for a guy he's maybe kind of into. 

Except Andre likes it. Likes it a lot. 

"It's just from a box," Tom says as he sits with a beer on the couch. It's kind of huge, but the living room is big. They've got a ping pong table too up against the windows. 

"Still good." Andre shoves another forkful in his mouth. He's either lying because he's really hungry or he's really into box mac and cheese. "Don't have in Sweden," he continues.

"Sweden? What are you doing here?" He switches the channel to the Leafs game out West. 

"I work for the embassy." 

Suddenly the weird license plate he'd seen in the garage made more sense. 

"Oh that's cool." His job is no where near as interesting or cool. Just where the money was after college in Toronto. He explains that after Andre trades and asks what he's doing. Andre doesn't seem bored and listens as Tom tells him how he graduated and got hired by the organization he's at after his parents helped him move here. 

They watch the game and swap info back and forth about one another. It's easy talking. 

Andre takes his leave after the first period is over though, yawning and trying to thank him at the same time. 

"Sure," Tom says. He leans against the door jam as Andre backs out into the hallway. Clearing his throat, "We could do this again if you want?" 

Smiling, Andre shifts and looks over his shoulder back into the apartment. "Yes, I want to beat you in the tennis table." 

He turns around to look at the ping pong table and then back. "Oh yeah. I'm pretty good though. I beat my roommate all the time. When he's here." 

Andre shrugs and his mouth curls into a small smirk. "I'm good." 

"Okay," Tom says, because if he just wants to come back and play ping pong that's fine too. At the least he gets someone else to hang out with. 

"I cook for you next time." 

_Oh_. 

That's direct. So is the flirty smile Andre gives as he walks away down the hall. 

Tom can so do this. 

 

 

_'I win'_

_'what?'_ Mike texts back immediately because Tom's remembered the three hour difference fine today. 

_'Andre likes me'_

He gets the rolling eyes emoji back and a thumbs up. 

 

 

Next time is dinner of Swedish meatballs that Andre insists goes with Kraft mac and cheese. 

"We can go out next time?" Andre asks later, twirling the blue paddle between his hands. 

"Out?" Tom bounces the ping pong ball on the table, the sharp noise keeping him grounded as he tries to guess that Andre's asking him on a date. 

That small smile appears, the one he's starting to realize mean Andre's trying to be cute. "I still need to find places." 

"Sure. We can go out." 

Andre steps back up to the edge of the table, paddle raised again and ready for another round. "Maybe few times."

Oh yeah. 

"To try all the places, there's a lot around here." Tom serves. 

Wrist quick, Andre returns the ball and scores. He grins wide. "Yes."

Andre beats him easily at ping pong but that's fine because next time is a date outside. Several outside. 

That's a win to him.


End file.
